[Update, as 2018 primaries approach: I confronted Senator Nelson yet again in an Indian River County parking lot after one of his local campaign speeches during his 2012 run to remain in the Senate, accompanied by one of Gary Bennett’s sisters. Like dozens of others, Gary was framed in Brevard County using dog handler John Preston. Unlike the others, Gary was framed well over a year after Preston had been discredited in federal court (Preston was federally discredited in July of 1982; Gary was put on “trial” in January of 1984, and his prosecutors and public defender knew it). Nelson was not pleased with being approached again, and he wasn’t at all helpful. Gary’s sister said he’d stated he had “no jurisdiction,” all I remember was his iciness … there was no second pat on the shoulder. If Nelson has a 2018 Democratic primary challenger, he or she will get my vote. If Nelson goes unchallenged, I will hold my nose very hard and vote for him. Why? Because Rick Scott DID HAVE JURISDICTION as Florida’s Governor, and Rick Scott directly participated in keeping Gary’s and others frame-ups intact. I’ll still fight to hold Nelson accountable for ignoring Florida public corruption that caused wrongful executions and wrongful convictions, but the priority must always be to go after those whose hands are bloodiest.]
I wondered how I’d react to finally meeting Senator Bill Nelson after our lengthy history.
Over the years, he’d helped me with an employer that refused to pay overtime, a hospital that wanted to be paid for refusing treatment, and had unstuck the broken record of disability denials that pretended my birth defects disappeared without a trace, birth defects that the SSA had declared me disabled for in 1974. (I’d fought then to become un-disabled, and won, getting sent to school instead of sidelined.)
Then he stopped helping, leaving me to battle Brevard County corruption on my own, although I was fighting for others, too.
Even those represented and freed by The Innocence Project have essentially stood alone against Brevard … we know we’re expected to be content with not being incarcerated as a substitute for justice.
I wondered if rage would bubble up over the betrayal of the ignored emails, webforms, phone calls and faxes, along with the face-to-face discussion I had with one of his Aides in November.
Fogged over from nocturnal seizures, small talk came hard while waiting for Sen. Nelson and Rep. Meek to arrive, but I managed. I think.
When Nelson finally walked in the door, I was surprised that there was nothing on my mind except that I was in the presence of a man who had seen our planet from afar, a fragile blue bauble suspended in space.
He had been hale then, tested to standards that few can meet. Now he looked like me; too thin, too weary, running nearly on empty.
I waited my turn and spoke my piece, quietly. I thanked him for his help in the past and asked that he make sure that the FBI immediately investigate Brevard corruption that affected trial outcomes, per their mandate. He asked for names of corrupt prosecutors. I gave him three, noting there were more, saying, “You already know all their names, sir.”
Brevard was once his home, Brevard was once my home. Nelson was launched into the heavens from Brevard, I and scores of others were lowered into hell.
I wanted to approach Rep. Meek with the same request, but my body decided I was instead going to have a violent allergic reaction to something I’d eaten. It was then I learned that the anti-war demonstration acquaintance who’d driven me to the gathering was a nurse. She gave me meds that made it unnecessary to make a further spectacle out of myself with my antihistamine pen.
Before he and Rep. Meek left for their next stop, Sen. Nelson walked over to me and patted my shoulder. I hope it signaled that he is in my corner again, rather than sympathy for the short-lived medical emergency.
I was shuffled home to rest, regretfully without thanking our hosts.
Two pills had kept my symptoms from progressing to my throat closing. Two FBI investigations of deliberate frame-ups could prevent the death of our justice system.
It’s been hovering at death’s door since prosecutorial immunity was established by case law in 1976.
The night terrors and seizures continue to batter my body since Saturday, with an new twist. I repeatedly woke to having tears running down my face. Although I’m not sure, my guess is they’re for my daughter, and her daughter, and the befouled blue bauble they’re inheriting.